


Heads Will Roll

by starbursts_and_kisses



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, I mean this is really AU, Romance, Sibling Incest, and when I say this is AU, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-22
Updated: 2015-01-22
Packaged: 2018-03-08 14:52:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3213188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starbursts_and_kisses/pseuds/starbursts_and_kisses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes even wolves must lie down with lions in order to save their own skin (or the realm). </p><p>Or, an AU where Jaime and Lyanna are forced to marry and suffer the consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heads Will Roll

**Author's Note:**

> There are fanfics you'd like to share with the world, while there are others you'd rather see buried in your archives folder for all eternity, never to be seen in the light of day. This fanfic belongs to the latter category. But a prompt is a prompt, so despite the gaping plot lines and messy timelines (I tinkered a bit with the Tower of Joy rescue and the Greyjoy rebellion timelines; sue me), I still have no choice but to publish this XD
> 
> This is for Evaline101. I am so sorry, my dear, I have failed youuuuuu.

**For the prompt:**   ** _Lyanna lives, but doesn't marry Robert. Jaime is removed from the Kingsguard but still heir to Tywin. The North and West are to be allies, and Lyanna and Jaime have to marry._**

 

_PART ONE_

 

The castle is quiet at this time of the day, save for the rustle of silk on stone and the occasional whispers of servants scurrying about the hallways like silent ghosts, and though Lyanna longs to go outside and relish what little bit of freedom she’s been granted, she does not dare move from her perch near the window.

She feels alone and trapped here, a lone wolf living amongst a nest of vipers and carrion crows, her flesh and bones utterly theirs for the taking. She longs for Winterfell, for its high walls and harsh snows, its trees weeping with blood and untold secrets, its grounds so vast she could lose herself in the heart of it for days on end. But most of all she longs for her family. Or what little remains of them.

Sometimes she would wake in the middle of the night and hear echoes of Brandon’s laughter - a sound so deep and wild it makes her chest ache just thinking of it - while other days she imagines the faint press of her father’s knuckles against her cheek, and for a moment she’d feel safe.

But then tomorrow would come, and once again she’d be reminded that life is not a song. Princes bleed rubies, the mighty dragon gets slayed, and sometimes, if one is lucky, the knight rescuing the maiden in the tower will turn out to be a king.

(Lyanna Stark has always been lucky.)

A faint rap on the door startles her out of her thoughts. She turns around and sees Jon Arryn striding into her chambers, his mouth set in its customary straight line, his gaze questioning.

“You called for me, Lady Lyanna?” The Hand of the King approaches her the way one might approach a frightened mare, his conscience no doubt flaring at the thought of disregarding propriety and going behind his sovereign’s back just so they could meet in secret.

“I did, my lord.” Lyanna draws away from the window, careful so they would not be seen, and motions to the empty chair beside her. “Please, do sit down.”

Jon takes the offered seat with stiff politeness. The gesture reminds her so much of Ned it makes her heart ache. “Are you well?” he inquires.

“I’m as well as I could be, given the circumstances,” Lyanna replies with a smile that does not reach her eyes. “But I want to go home. How much longer will I have to stay here?”

Understanding fills Jon’s eyes. “I’m afraid the King has still not consented to send you back to the North. He claims it would be safer for you to remain here at the capital. I’m sorry.”

“Safer?” The words sound wrong in her mouth. “On the contrary, the longer I linger here in King’s Landing, the more I fear for my own safety.”

“I assure you, my lady, no harm shall come to you here. King Robert has seen to that.”

“Funny, my brother said the same thing,” Lyanna says wryly. “Shall I tell you then what Robert whispered to me when he came to visit me last night? He told me he would give me a crown. Not one made out of flowers and a maiden’s foolish fantasies, but a real one. Can you blame me then, my lord, for acting so scared?”

Silence. And then Jon’s sharp inhale slices through the air. “A _crown?”_ he almost chokes on the words. “You’re sure that is exactly what he said? You did not misinterpret him in any way?”

She shakes her head no.

Jon stands up, one hand running through his graying hair, thoughts hidden behind an impervious mask. “What the king promises you is impossible. He cannot give you something that already belongs to another. Cersei Lannister is already queen.” 

“You think I am not aware of that?” A shadow of unease crosses Lyanna’s face. “Robert did not speak as though he had plans to make me his second wife. He spoke as though I would be the only queen Westeros shall ever know. I’m scared, Lord Arryn. I have no wish to be a ruler of anything, save my own destiny. All I want, all I’ve ever wanted since the war ended, is to go home. I have no wish to see the realm destroyed piece by piece just so a man could have me again. I have enough blood on my hands as it is.” 

When the Lord of the Eyrie says nothing, she plows on. “If you truly care for the realm, you must do something.” She takes his hand and looks at him, begging him to understand. “Please, my lord. For the love you bear my brother, help me.”

It takes a long time, but in the end, Jon Arryn nods. “I shall see what I can do.”

 

* * *

 

 

Two weeks pass and nothing changes in the tragedy that is Lyanna’s life. The king showers her with presents, each one more lavish than the last. Fine leather saddles for her new Dornish mare, costly jewels and velvet ribbons, fur-lined cloaks and Myrish gowns so fine they would put the queen’s wardrobe to shame; Lyanna wishes she could give them all back. Except for the horse. The horse she would use, so she could run away from this place and never come back. Would that she could.

Meanwhile, the queen looks at her with disdain, the servants and distinguished members of the court gossip about her, and the Hand of the King keeps his distance. Even Ned, as comforting as his letters though may be, could offer her nothing more beyond his misplaced assurances that his dearest friend would never dare to harm her or give her cause to doubt him. It is all very maddening, and Lyanna feels as though she is quickly running out of options. 

But one day, she runs into Jaime Lannister. She has never seen him before (he had already departed for Casterly Rock by the time Robert’s troops found Lyanna, just days after he had been wed to Cersei), but the moment she lays her eyes on him, she immediately recognizes him as the queen’s brother. 

He is decked in red and gold, like a true lion of the Rock, and were it not for the cruel twist of his lips and the arrogant smirk on his face, Lyanna would have found him beautiful. 

“Ser Jaime,” she greets him, glad for once that Ned is not here. No doubt he would not approve of her talking to the Kingslayer.

Jaime Lannister regards her with what could only be construed as mild disinterest, but at her words, something in his face changes. “Don’t call me Ser,” he snaps. “Have you not heard? I am no longer a knight of the Kingsguard.”

Lyanna’s eyebrows shoot skyward. “But… I don’t understand. The Kingsguard serves for life.”

“Try telling that to my father.”

_No longer a knight… Could it be…?_

A dreadful feeling suddenly rises within her chest, and she has to smother a gasp and school her face into a neutral expression so as not to give herself away.

“Very well then.” She smiles pointedly at the Lannister boy and curtseys. “Have a good day, _Lord_ Jaime.”

She hides her trembling hands within the folds of her skirt and walks away with her head held high.

 

* * *

 

“Please tell me this is not your doing.”

The King’s Hand meets Lyanna’s beseeching gaze with a tired smile of his own. The last time he’d spoken with Lyanna Stark, she had been desperate. Strong, yes, but desperate all the same. Now she remains desperate, and twice as troubled as before. Jon could scarcely blame her for it.

“You asked for help, Lady Stark,” he reminds her, though he knows it isn’t necessary. “Now help has come.”

“In the form of Jaime Lannister?”

The disbelief and horror in Lyanna’s face is not something Jon would be likely to forget. The wolf blood, Ned had called it. If Jon had harbored any doubts of Lyanna ever carrying the same wild blood as her brother Brandon, they are gone now. She is quick to anger, this wolf. Jon wonders whether Tywin’s son would be able to handle her. 

“The king cannot be allowed to wed you. If he threatens to set aside Queen Cersei, the Lannisters would revolt. This could cost him civil war, and the realm cannot afford another war. The only way to stop him from marrying you is if someone else marries you first.”

“So you would sell me out to the Lannisters?” Lyanna exclaims with rising incredulity. She didn’t know what she had expected when she first came to Jon Arryn for help – a Northern escort perhaps, one that would see her through to Winterfell without delay, or at the very worst, a secret plot to smuggle her out of the castle and across the Narrow Seas, where she would finally be out of anyone’s reach – but it certainly isn’t this. “Have you forgotten what Tywin Lannister is capable of? His family is not to be trusted!”

“That may be true, but in this we have no choice. The Lannisters are the only family in Westeros that Robert cannot afford to antagonize. If young Jaime claims you, there is nothing Robert could do.”

There is a part of Lyanna that recognizes the logic in this, but she doesn’t want to believe it. Not yet, anyway. Not when it could cost her her entire freedom. “What about Ned?” she asks instead. “If he were to be made aware of the gravity of the situation, surely he would rescue me? If Robert cannot listen to either of us, surely he would listen to Ned?”

Jon Arryn looks at her sadly. “If that were true, you’d already be at Winterfell by now, my lady,” he informs her. “Even Ned cannot help you, not when Robert fancies himself in love with you to the point of madness.”

The words strike her heart like arrows, and Lyanna is finally forced to concede that he is right.

“Alright,” she says before she could be given the chance to change her mind. She could do a lot worse than Jaime Lannister, she thinks. At least he isn’t famed for his tastes in whores. At least his honor is just as sullied as hers. Perhaps one day they might even find time to bond over that.

 

* * *

 

“Jaime, you’re back!”

Cersei crosses the room in half and greets her brother with a starving kiss, wine cup and secret plots forgotten for the moment. She buries her face in the crook of his neck and allows herself, just for a moment, to be comforted by his presence. It had been months since she saw him last, thanks to their father’s meddling and Jaime’s subsequent removal from the Kingsguard, but now that he is here, she feels like she can finally breathe again. 

“What brings you to King’s Landing? Did Father summon you?”

Jaime nods. “He did. He didn’t say why, though I suspect it has probably something to do with the brewing rebellion at Pyke. Perhaps he finally realized that I am a better fighter than a lord.” He shrugs. “But enough of that. You know I only came here to see you. It’s been too long.”

“It has.” Cersei cords her fingers through her brother’s hair, marveling at how golden and similar it is to her own. “Oh, Jaime. I’ve missed you so.”

“And I you. Has Robert been treating you well?” 

She purses her lips, highly aware that just one whispered word to Jaime and he would not hesitate to slit Robert’s throat, consequences and Cersei’s early widowhood be damned. “He hardly comes to my bed, if that’s what you’re asking,” Cersei confides in him. “I suppose I should be thankful, but… he shames me, Jaime. He spends all his time pining after the Stark bitch that people are starting to gossip. It’s starting to trouble me.”

“I ran into Lady Lyanna on my way here,” Jaime mentions with a shrug. “She looks comely enough, I suppose…but she only has half of your beauty, sweet sister. Robert would be a fool to ignore you in favor of her.” 

“Robert is indeed a fool,” Cersei says, emerald green eyes alight with anger. “And the Stark girl is a complication. It would have been better for everyone if she had died.”

“Is killing her now not an option?”

“You think I haven’t tried?” Jaime watches her pace around the room, skirts billowing behind her like a sail caught in a tempest, tiny spots of red blooming on her cheeks. “The girl is too well guarded. She even has her own taster when she dines. It’s ridiculous.”

“Let Robert have her then. You are still his queen. Nothing changes that.”

“And you, Jaime? Will you remain my knight?” She stops in front of him and rests her palm on his chest. “When the time arrives, will you come and rescue me?”

Jaime kisses her then, and she imagines he tastes like hope. “Always.”

 

* * *

 

 

The wind is blowing through Lyanna’s hair, messing her braid and sending strands of it falling across her face, and all around her, she can smell fresh grass and honeysuckle and the remnants of a light summer rain. She laughs, savoring the fleeting taste of freedom in her mouth.

Beside her, Jaime Lannister reins in his horse and surveys her with a cool, slightly exasperated expression. Keeping up with her is a tedious affair, and more than once, Lyanna could tell that he is cursing the King’s Hand for sending him out on this foolish errand.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but… good god, Lady Stark, perhaps you’d like to slow down?” Jaime wipes the sweat from his brow and huffs. “If you keep this up, I can assure you our mares won’t have enough energy to bring us back to the Red Keep in one piece. Mayhaps it’s best if we head back now, before King Robert threatens to have me beheaded? I do so love my head.”

Lyanna grins at him, thoroughly enjoying being the source of his discomfort. “So eager to get rid of my company, Lord Jaime?” 

“My sister would be wroth with you if she finds out you’ve recklessly ridden away with me without securing her or the king’s consent,” Jaime points out churlishly. 

“Ah, yes. Your sister.” She slows down and sends him a look as cutting as newly forged steel. “I see the way you look at her, you know. Always so tender, so protective. You must love her very much.” 

“Of course I love her. She’s my sister.”

“But brothers aren’t supposed to love their sisters that way, are they? I was taught to believe that it was forbidden.”

Jaime’s eyes flash with anger. “Careful now, my lady,” he warns her in a voice that sends shivers crawling up her spine. “You may have the king’s favor, but you forget that you are dealing with a Lannister. I could make life _extremely_ difficult for you if you forge on with these baseless accusations.”

It was only a wild guess, one borne out of an overactive imagination and fueled by kitchen gossip about the Lannister twins’ closeness to one another, but judging by his reaction, it seems as though she has struck a nerve. The Lannister boy looks mad enough to run her through with his sword, and Lyanna tries hard not to think about how foolish she had been to send away all her guards.

“Forgive me,” she apologizes with a sardonic twist of her lips. “I did not ask for your company just so we could debate about the different forms of love that exist in this world.”

“Then why _did_ you ask for my company?” Jaime says through gritted teeth. 

Lyanna wastes no time in pleasantries. “I want you to marry me, Jaime Lannister.”

She sees the exact moment Jaime’s jaw hits the floor. If the situation isn’t so dire, Lyanna would have laughed.

“Did you just… Did you just _propose_ to me?” Jaime says faintly, looking as though he is one step closer to falling off his horse. 

“I did.”

“Look, I’m extremely flattered, but –”

“Oh, don’t let this get to your head, Lord Jaime,” Lyanna interrupts him before he could ruin the mood with his usual brand of Lannister arrogance. “I’m not saying this because I actually like you. I’m saying this because I want to get out of this place, away from Robert and your sweet sister. Robert thinks he can have me as long as I am here, but I don’t intend to be subjected to the whims of a lovesick king. I shan’t allow it.”

Jaime laughs unkindly at her. “You think I give a single fuck about your troubles? I’m sorry to disappoint you, Lady Stark, but I am no gallant knight, and I don’t make a habit of rescuing maidens I barely know. I find it rather tiresome.”

“You might not care about me, but you care about your sister, do you not, _Ser_ Jaime?” The moment she says the words, Lyanna knows she has finally captured his attention. “See, here’s the thing about our benevolent king. He is so very loving and kind, he has promised me a crown. And for that to happen, he would have to take away _your_ sister’s crown. Is that what you want, Ser Jaime? To see your sister’s title as queen taken away? Because I can assure you, Robert is serious about this. He wants me so much he would be willing to start another civil war for love of me.” 

“And you think marrying me would be the perfect solution?” Jaime exclaims. “King Robert would have my head before we could even consummate the marriage, assuming, of course, that you would even get me to agree to this mad scheme of yours.”

“I shall handle Robert. You worry about your sister. Do you or do you not want her to remain queen?”

“What I want is irrelevant,” Jaime growls. “I don’t care how many times you try to convince me. My answer is final. I will _not_ marry you.”

“I see.” 

Lyanna’s gaze hardens. She could not afford to give up despite his protestations. Not when there is so much at stake. If she could not find a way to convince him, perhaps she would find better luck convincing other people.

 

* * *

 

 

“Sit down, Lady Lyanna. We both know why you’re here. We might as well get it over with.”

Lyanna takes the offered seat with grace and bares her teeth into a smile, a reminder to Tywin Lannister that she would not be intimidated by him, no matter the circumstances that had brought them together. “Jon Arryn has told you then?” she inquires.

“Yes.” The Warden of the West turns to her, face half-hidden behind steepled fingers, and though his eyes are as green and calm as summer grass, Lyanna has the distinct feeling that she is being measured. She could only hope and pray that he does not find her lacking. 

“And?” she dares to inquire further. “What do you think, my lord?”

“Let us talk about your intentions, you and I,” Tywin says in a cool voice. “You wish to wed my son, the heir to Casterly Rock? What a bold proposal. Tell me, Lady Stark. What could you possibly offer House Lannister in exchange for this marriage?”

“I could offer your son heirs and help him rule the West as best as I can,” Lyanna tells him. “I could offer you ties to the North, ties that would strengthen your House the same way Queen Cersei’s marriage to the king strengthened your ties to the South. Your son could do no better than me. Wed me to him, and you will have Northern support, should you ever need it.” 

“An impressive argument,” Tywin acknowledges with a grudging nod. “But what of His Grace? Surely a man as… attached as he is to you would find it hard to give you away? He may take your marriage to my son as a slight.”

 “I shall do my best to convince Robert of my decision when your son and I are wed.” 

Tywin raises an eyebrow. “ _When_ you are wed? You do not plan on securing the king’s blessing before the wedding?” 

Lyanna offers him a wry smile. “You and I both know that King Robert would never consent to this, no matter how much I plead with him,” she replies. “When the king rides off to meet my brother at Pyke in the hopes of quelling the Greyjoy rebellion, Jaime and I could be wed. When Robert comes back, he would have no choice but to accept it. He would be furious at first, but I will ask him for mercy, beg him if need be.”

“And if he asks for blood? Lannister blood?”

“Come now, Lord Tywin,” Lyanna responds. “Robert may have his faults as a king, but even I know that he would never dare harm your son. The Westerlands would revolt, and he can scarcely afford for that to happen, not when he still has Balon Greyjoy to deal with. If we force his hand, we lose nothing. But if we do nothing, we lose everything.”

“So? What shall it be, Lord Tywin?” she asks him after a sufficient amount of time has elapsed. “I have made my arguments. Now the decision is yours.”

Tywin Lannister does not move. But at long last, he nods and comes to a decision.

“So be it then,” he says in a voice devoid of emotion. “House Lannister will stand with you.”

Lyanna smiles back, as she must, and tries hard not to think of Elia Martell and the way Gregor Clegane must have painted the walls red with her children’s blood. She tries hard not to think about the fate that awaits her should Tywin Lannister choose to betray her in the future. It does not matter anyway, Lyanna tells herself. She would make a deal with the Stranger himself if it would grant her redemption and a chance for escape.

 

* * *

 

 

Jaime enters Cersei’s chambers just in time to narrowly avoid being hit by a pillow on the head.

“You’re marrying her?” Cersei all but screams, and any hopes Jaime might have had of finding comfort and pleasure in his sister’s arms tonight quickly vanishes the moment he sees the expression on her face. Beyond the fury and the promise of retribution, there is the slightest bit of hurt there, a shadow left behind by what she could only see as betrayal of the deepest kind.

Jaime sighs and braces himself for another round of pillow-throwing _._ “I take it Father has told you then?” he says wearily.

“Yes. That Stark bitch! I can’t believe the nerve of her. How dare she presume to be the Lady of Casterly Rock? How dare her? As if being Robert’s whore isn’t bad enough.” Cersei clenches her hands into fists and twists her face in righteous anger. “And you! Don’t tell me you’ve agreed to this? Father said she talked to you. Did she bewitch you the same way she bewitched Robert? The same way she bewitched Rhaegar?”

“Listen to yourself, Cersei. You are talking nonsense. Of course I did not agree to this,” Jaime reassures her, brushing his thumb against her cheek. “Had I known that this was what Father had intended when he brought me here, I would have happily stayed at Casterly Rock.”

Cersei exhales, her relief palpable at Jaime’s words. “Then don’t marry her,” she urges him. “I can send word to Robert about this treasonous plot so he could come back and stop the wedding in time –”

“It’s no use. The king must already be halfway to Pyke by now. Your messenger won’t reach him in time.” 

“What do you propose we do then? Stand around and wait for Father to change his mind?”

“Yes. Or,” Jaime grabs both her hands and holds her gaze, “you can always marry me.”

Cersei’s face falls. “Jaime, not this again. You know I can’t,” she says softly, shaking her head and willing her twin to see reason. Jaime had always been the more romantic pair of the two, and though most of the time she loves him for it, now she just wishes nothing more than for him to see the practical side of things, the way she does. 

“Why not?” Jaime exclaims stubbornly. “It’s the only thing that could save me from this fucking sham of a marriage. We can run away to the Free Cities and make our own life there, free from Father and King Robert and this godsawful politics. We won’t ever need to hide our feelings from one another. We’d be happy.”

“But I am queen here,” Cersei protests, knowing even after she says the words that no matter how much he loves her, Jaime will never understand her tenacious need to cling to power. Things are easier for him because he’s a man. He’s been given and promised power ever since he’d been born, while Cersei has to grapple and fight her way through this world, constantly striving to prove to others that she’s just as capable and strong as any man. And now that she’s finally tasted power – _true_ power – Jaime expects her to give it up?

“You’ll still be a queen in my eyes, no matter what happens,” Jaime tells her, as if that could somehow make everything better. “Please, Cersei. I know we’ve talked about this before, but this time, for my sake, we need to run away.”

“I can’t,” Cersei whispers with a shake of her head. “I’m sorry, Jaime. But I can’t.”

A muscle pulses in Jaime’s cheek. “You do realize that if you don’t run away with me right now, I will be married to Lyanna Stark in the morrow?” 

Cersei swallows the bile in her throat and nods. “I do.”

“Yet still you refuse?” Jaime looks at her as though he’s been slapped. Cersei wishes to reach out across the sudden gap between them and assure him that her love for him would remain just as strong as ever, but of course Jaime won’t see it that way. In his eyes, Cersei has doomed him and betrayed him in the worst possible manner.

“We can still fix this,” she starts to say. “I can still be queen and have you –” 

“No.” Jaime shakes his head, looking so lost and hurt, and Cersei watches him grapple with his pride and his love for her. Finally, after a long moment, pride wins out, and Jaime clenches his jaw. “Don’t bother. You’ve already lost me.” 

“Don’t say that. Jaime, please –”

Cersei watches her brother walk away from her without a backwards glance. 

She closes her eyes, counts to ten, and waits for him to come back ( _Jaime always comes back),_ but this time he doesn’t. Fear grips her chest then, and all of a sudden, she remembers Maggy’s voice.

 _“Queen you shall be . . . until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all that you hold dear.”_  

An image of Lyanna Stark kissing Jaime underneath a weirwood tree immediately crosses her mind, and Cersei shudders. No. She could not, would not, think of her as the girl in the prophecy. Lyanna Stark is not queen of anything, nor is she pretty or capable enough to win Jaime’s heart. Cersei is certain of it. 

She’s also certain that when Jaime is done sulking over his wounded pride, he will forgive her and come back to her. Maybe not now, but soon, and perhaps when the time is right, she might even persuade him to get rid of the Stark girl for good. 

As for Robert… Cersei will never allow that drunken fool to take away her crown. She would crush his dreams of marrying a wolf bride before he even has time to act on them and watch him drown in a river of his own tears. She’ll make sure of it.

After all, what use is her power as queen if she won’t use it?

 

* * *

 

 

 

_PART TWO_

The sky is bleeding orange by the time they finish saying their vows. Lyanna stands up and rests one hand on the ancient weirwood trunk to steady herself, while her other hand clutches the blood red cloak on her shoulders, a symbol that marks her as the newest member of the Lannister family. She is well and truly a lion now, for better or for worse.

She exhales softly and stares at the clouds, hoping for a sign – for anything, really – from the old gods that she has done the right thing. But the only answer she receives is silence.

In truth, she did not expect her wedding day to be like this. She had always imagined she would be wed at Winterfell, with her brothers by her side, and her father alive long enough to give her away. But instead, she gets a secret wedding and a resentful husband.

A small part of her thinks she deserves this. For the things she’s done to her family, for the part she played in the war, for everything. She wants to tell Jaime that she did this not to torment him, but out of a sense of honor and duty to the realm (who is she fooling though? Since when has Lyanna ever cared about the realm?) but she suspects he wouldn’t care. Nobody shuns honor and duty like her new husband, after all.

She glances at Jaime out of the corner of her eye and almost sighs at the spiteful glare he sends her. He is a proud man, Jaime Lannister, and so stubborn. Looking at him now reminds Lyanna of the first time her betrothal to Robert had been announced all those years ago. How she’d cried and raged and threatened her father to change his mind. So it isn’t hard to imagine what Jaime must be feeling now. Lyanna is only sorry that things had to be this way.

“I hope you’re happy now. You’ve sufficiently and completely ruined my life. Did you really need to go to such lengths to avoid being married to Robert? Had you not plotted so foolishly with Jon Arryn and my father, you would’ve been queen.” It’s the first time he’s spoken to her since they’ve said their vows, and though the question is not one Lyanna would like to talk about again, she understands his need to ask her.

“The last time someone gave me a crown, it did not end well for my family or for the realm. So no, my lord,” Lyanna says with a fierceness that surprises even Jaime, “I’ve no wish to be queen. I cannot even think of it. I could wed anyone in the realm, so long as it’s not Robert.”

Things would have been different had Robert found her first _before_ he married Cersei. He would have wed her, the devils take his small council and his petty lords, and Lyanna, though her heart was heavy and she neither loved nor admired Robert for the deeds he had done in her name… Lyanna would have said yes. She would have been miserable and alone (a state not so different from her current situation), but she would have gone through with it no matter how much it killed her, because Robert Baratheon was the one man her father had chosen for her, and it only seemed fitting that now that he was dead, Lyanna would be left to honor that promise. It would have been her last dutiful act as a member of House Stark. It would’ve been the right thing to do. 

“And what makes you think I’d be any better than Robert?” Jaime replies, almost challengingly. “What if you’re only exchanging one cage for another?”

Lyanna touches him lightly on the chest, on the space where she knows his heart would be. “I like to believe that you’re better than you appear to be, Jaime Lannister. I like to believe that underneath all that steel and anger and arrogance lies a heart that beats just like the rest of us.” She smiles at him. “You managed to save King’s Landing once from the threat of wildfire. Surely, that must count for something?”

 

* * *

 

 

She kisses him like a woman starved of air, of love, of comfort. Her hands are steady as she unbuckles his belt, her pupils dilated and impossibly bright. And when she pushes him to the bed and straddles him with a force he did not think a lady of her stature and size capable of, Jaime lets her.

He closes his eyes and loses himself in the sensation of her lips burning a trail of fire down his skin. He doesn’t react when she gently brushes his hair away from his nape and nips at the junction between his shoulder and neck, like a she-wolf marking her territory, but when she draws away long enough to toss her shift aside, against his will, Jaime’s heart rate spikes up.

He stares at every available inch of skin on her body and wills himself not to think of golden hair and green eyes, tries hard not to think of hands as familiar to him as his own, of a different voice that says _Jaime, Jaime_ like his name is an answered prayer in a moment of darkness. For a few blissful moments, he succeeds.

But then Lyanna throws back her head and drags her nails across his back in a gesture jarringly reminiscent of Cersei, and it’s all it takes for Jaime to forget that he is fucking a wolf instead of a lioness. 

When he comes with a different woman’s name on his lips, Lyanna swallows his words with a kiss and says nothing.

 

* * *

 

 

The king’s continued absence at court lulls Lyanna into a false sense of security. The days fly by without notice, and though she occasionally takes time to reply to Ned and Jon Arryn’s letters (the former being full of admonition and dismay at her secret wedding), much of her days are spent befriending the servants and lords and exploring every inch of the castle – from the Hall of Heroes down to the bowels of the Rock, where the starving caged lions she’d heard so much about were being kept.

At first, the inhabitants of the castle, with the sole exception of Jaime’s brother Tyrion, had looked upon her with scorn and mistrust, thinking perhaps that this foreign young lady who had married their lord so suddenly would bring ruin upon them. But it doesn’t take long for Lyanna to win them over. Though she isn’t as beautiful and graceful as Cersei, she is kind, even to the servants, and there is a certain boldness and warmth to her character that could make even the surliest of lords smile.

But it isn’t enough to endear her to her husband. Jaime has been regrettably avoiding her ever since the night of their wedding. Whether because he genuinely hates her for forcing this marriage on him or because he feels awkward for saying another woman’s name during their lovemaking, Lyanna cannot truly say.

At first, she is content to leave him be. But then one day, she grows tired of his surliness and corners him alone in their chambers before he has a chance to disappear again. 

“You can’t avoid me forever, you know,” is the first thing Lyanna says the moment she sees him.

Jaime glares at her, evidently displeased at her intrusion. “I’ve been busy,” he replies gruffly.

“Doing what?” Lyanna demands to know, hands on her hips. “Fooling around with your brother and spending hours at the training yard? You do realize that pretending that I don’t exist won’t make your life any easier, don’t you?”

If anything, Jaime’s anger only rises at her words. “Look, haven’t you already ruined my life enough? Haven’t I already saved you from the misery of being Robert Baratheon’s mistress or queen or whatever the fuck he wants you to be? What more do you want from me? Leave me be, woman.”

“Like it or not, you are going to be stuck with me for the rest of your life,” Lyanna tells him rather unhelpfully. “We might as well accept it and make the most of it.” 

“Make the most of it?” Jaime growls. “There is no _making the most of it_.”

Lyanna shrugs. “We can try.” 

“You try,” is Jaime’s boorish response. “I’m not doing a single gods-damned thing for you _or_ with you.”

“Fine,” she snaps, crossing her arms over her chest.

“ _Fine.”_

 

* * *

It takes two days for Lyanna’s temper to cool off. By then, she is bored and ready enough to try seeking out her husband’s company again.

This time, she finds him at the edge of the cliffs overlooking the sea, his legs dangling on the precipice, his gaze fixated on the raging waves below. At the sound of her footsteps, he looks up.

“Tyrion said I’d find you here,” Lyanna says by way of explanation as she kicks off her shoes and drops down to the empty space next to him, not caring if she gets dirt all over her new gown.

Jaime raises an eyebrow at her. “You and my brother are sharing confidences now?” he remarks, finding the idea rather hard to believe.

“Tyrion said he had a tender spot for bastards and broken things. I suppose I was broken once,” Lyanna muses. Then she laughs, as though to shake off the intensity of her thoughts, and continues, “In any case, your brother is funny. I like him, even though he always beats me at cyvasse and makes fun of my dancing skills. I am quite glad to have him here as a friend.”

If Jaime still possesses a heart, it would’ve softened at those words. (It’s a good thing he doesn’t have a heart then.)

Truth be told, he had been worried when he’d first brought Lyanna to Casterly Rock. Most women treated his brother rather unfavorably, choosing not to look past his deformity and into the true nature of his heart (hell, even his own sister harbors no great love for Tyrion, her own flesh and blood), so naturally Jaime had assumed that Lyanna would feel the same way. But a small part of him is relieved that he won’t have to worry about mediating a fight between his brother and his new bride. Perhaps Lyanna Stark isn’t so wretched after all. 

But he doesn’t tell her any of these things. Instead, he rolls his eyes at her, ever so mindful of his pride and the image he has to maintain, and quips, “If you like him so much, you should’ve married him then.”

“Mayhaps I should have, had I known how stubborn and difficult you are.”

“Stubborn? Difficult? Are you sure you’re not describing yourself?”

Lyanna doesn’t respond. Instead, she stands up and stares at the ocean.

“Leaving so soon? Oh no. Have I hurt your feelings, lady wife?” Jaime goads her, his smile full of wicked amusement. 

Lyanna only rolls her eyes at him and huffs. “If you insist on being such a ponce, perhaps I do have better things to do,” she responds snootily. She takes one last look at the sparkling water below and, without looking at Jaime, starts to take off her gown until she is left standing in nothing but her smallclothes.

Jaime blinks at her, startled at her sudden change of demeanor. “What in the Seven Hells are you doing now?” he exclaims.

His wolf bride turns to him then, all sharp teeth and bright eyes and flushed cheeks. “I’m going cliff-diving,” she announces, as though this is a regular occurrence and Jaime ought to feel foolish for even asking her. “Would you like to join me?” 

“What, so I can drown you?” 

“Only if you manage to catch me.”

Lyanna grins at him, and without warning, dives straight into the water. Jaime watches her body plunge downward until it is swallowed by the waves. For one terrible moment, he thinks Lyanna has drowned, but then her head hits the surface and she lets out a scream of pure delight. 

“Come on, Jaime!” she yells at him, waving her hands in the air like a giddy child and shrieking every time a wave threatens to topple her over.

From his shocked position at the top of the cliff, he could hear her laughter, sweet and inviting, the kind of sound a siren makes right before she drowns a sailor into the sea. 

If he were a wise man, he would ignore his wife’s foolish antics and head straight back to the castle. But sadly, Jaime Lannister isn’t a wise man. 

He furiously curses in his head and makes a split second decision.

He jumps.

 

* * *

 

 

_PART THREE_

 

“Get up, Jaime.”

He wakes up to the sound of a female’s voice crooning in his ear. When he cracks an eye open, he finds Lyanna sitting on his chest, a bright smile on her face.

Jaime groans and tries to go back to sleep, but the pressure on his chest only increases, and Lyanna won’t stop tugging on his arms. “Leave me alone,” he grumbles, swatting her away and burying his face deeper into his pillow.

“But it’s a beautiful day and you’ve slept long enough,” Lyanna sings. “Come on. Let’s do something fun.”

“Sleeping is fun.”

“Yes, but I’ve got a better idea. Get up and teach me how to swing a sword.”

Jaime groans and curses under his breath, wishing for once that he could swap places with Tyrion for a day. At least his brother isn’t saddled with a wife as pesky and annoying as Lyanna. Ever since that incident at the cliff, she had insinuated herself into his life with a speed and relentlessness that would have put even a bloodhound to shame, and Jaime had found it hard to be rid of her. 

It doesn’t help matters that his twin has refused to send a single letter to him since the day of their quarrel. No doubt she is waiting for Jaime to come to her, the way he always does, and he suspects that, were it not for Lyanna Stark distracting him at every turn, he would have long since caved in to his desires and ridden out to King’s Landing to make peace with Cersei. As it is, the distraction Lyanna provides him with soon turns out to be a blessing. Though… perhaps not this morning.

“Have you gone mad?” Jaime growls in response to her ridiculous request. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Why not?” Lyanna whines. “What’s the use of having a former knight of the Kingsguard for a husband if you’re not going to teach me proper swordplay?” 

“I’m sure you’ll find other ways to amuse yourself,” Jaime mutters with his eyes still closed. “Now get out of my chambers and leave me be.” 

“As you wish.” The weight on his chest lifts and Jaime hears her footsteps fade away. “I shall find some other man then, someone more skilled in the art of swordplay, to teach me. Perhaps one of your bannermen?”

In a flash, Jaime rises up from the bed. “Do you know nothing, woman? _I_ am the best swordsman in the realm,” he informs her with an arrogant toss of his head.

“Then you won’t mind if you prove it?” Lyanna smiles sweetly at him, and Jaime realizes, just a few seconds too late, that he has fallen right into her trap. “See you at the training yard, dear husband.”

She winks at him and takes her leave.

 

* * *

 

The wax seal glints red in the candlelight, its color reminding Jaime of the blood that would soon spill – his blood, most likely – if things do not proceed according to plan. But before he could cross the room and make a grab for the letter, Lyanna snatches it from the table and breaks open the seal herself.

Jaime watches her bite her lip as her eyes quickly scan the contents of the letter.

“Well?” he asks her once his patience finally frays. “What does it say?”

“Do you want the good news first or the bad news?” Lyanna asks him.

He shrugs impatiently. “I don’t care. Just tell me what it says.”

“The good news is,” Lyanna says as she steals a look at him out of the corner of her eye, “the king is no longer inclined to believe that I was abducted or forced to marry against my will. Some of my letters must have finally reached him, thank the gods. He also denies any plans of marching against House Lannister. That should please you and your father.”

“And the bad news?”

Lyanna winces. “He’s furious with you. Extremely furious,” she whispers apologetically. “He thinks you’ve seduced me behind his back –” 

“Are you fucking japing with me?” Jaime exclaims. “As I recall, it was the other way around.”

“Shut up, Jaime, and let me finish.” Lyanna rolls her eyes at him and clears her throat before continuing. “Robert says he should’ve executed you when he had the chance, instead of having you pardoned for your crimes. Don’t look at me like that; those were his words. I’m just telling you what I read. Furthermore, he says that although he shall take no further actions against you or your house, he is prepared to do everything in his power to find a way to set aside his marriage to Cersei, as well as ours. So he can marry me in good faith.” 

“In good faith?” Jaime looks at her disbelievingly. “Just how many letters must you write this man before he finally realizes that you don’t love him?”

“A lot of letters, I imagine,” Lyanna replies with a weary sigh.

Jaime groans. “Gods save us all.”

 

* * *

 

 

The second missive arrives shortly after the first one, delivered by a sprightly young squire who looks at the steel in Lyanna’s hand and at Jaime’s otherwise bruise-free face with something akin to confusion and shock.

Jaime motions for Lyanna to continue her attack, and the squire further gets to witness the future Lady of Casterly Rock tortuously hacking away at the air while her golden-haired husband dodges each blow with astonishing speed and grace, and all while reading the letter the King’s Hand had written them all the way from King’s Landing.

Lyanna grits her teeth and readjusts the sword in her grip, trying not to let defeat get the better of her. The last thing she wants is for Jaime to call her a sore loser, but it’s hard not to feel a little sore and bitter when the stupid fool won’t even allow himself to be wounded.

 _Show-off,_ Lyanna thinks rather uncharitably. _All my efforts and not a single blond hair on his head is harmed. Oh, sweet merciful gods. Life is not fair._

She sighs and prepares herself for another unsuccessful attempt at disarming him. With a sudden rush of speed, she brings her sword forward, fully expecting to meet resistance, but to her surprise, she cuts through flesh. 

Lyanna blinks and stares at the blood trickling down Jaime’s cheek, too surprised and confused to celebrate her victory.

She swallows hard. “Jaime?” she calls out, almost cautiously. “What did the letter say?”

Jaime crumples the piece of parchment in his hand. His expression is unreadable. “My sister…” he starts to say, then swallows and thinks better of it. He looks away and clenches his fist, knuckles as white as snow. Lyanna can’t stop look at it. “The queen is with child.” 

“What?” That certainly isn’t what Lyanna is expecting. 

“She announced it at a feast, in front of hundreds of people,” Jaime recites dully. Somehow, the lack of emotion in his voice only makes the entire thing worse. “Robert cannot annul their marriage now. Not when they finally have an heir to the Iron Throne. He will never bother you again.”

Hearing this should’ve made her happy. She should be screaming with joy right now. She should be rousing the entire castle and demanding a feast of her own. She could certainly afford it, now that she is a Lannister. But one look at Jaime’s face and her happiness immediately evaporates.

She shouldn’t feel bad for him, certainly not now, but the heart is a fickle thing, and it’s a little hard not to empathize with someone when you share a bed with him every night (Lyanna only means this in the most literal sense, though.)

She watches him toss the letter into the wind, sighing as he did so. Strangely enough, it sounds a bit like letting go.

 

* * *

 

They end up drinking a lot that night, thanks to Tyrion’s uncanny ability to remedy any awkward situation with wine (lots of wine). Lyanna thinks there might have been dancing too, and a bit of knife throwing involved, but to be honest, she doesn’t remember most of it. She doesn’t remember anything, really, except for the fucking. 

She doesn’t know how it happens or who starts it, but this... this is what she remembers: his mouth hot against hers, his hands on the back of her neck, and her blood thundering in her ears, so loud she thinks it a wonder no one else can hear it but her.

The tension in the air is as heavy and heated as their first night together, yet at the same time, she knows that this is different. There is a softness in Jaime tonight, a certain vulnerability that she never thought him capable of showing to anyone, least of all to her. He is all soft palms and silken lips and feather-light touches tonight, and even when he drags his fingertips over the swell of her breast in a way that would surely make a septa blush with shame, his touch is gentle. Lyanna doesn’t know whether she should howl or cry or do both. She ends up doing both.

She remembers quivering in his arms, remembers a sort of heady sensation rushing to her head, as though awakening from a dream, and afterwards, Jaime’s strangled cry of “ _Lyanna.”_

He repeats her name thrice more over the course of the night. The first time, he says it like a curse, his mouth moving so fast Lyanna is almost forced to believe that she had only imagined the whole thing. The second time, he slurs on the _L,_ his vowels tripping all over each other, like it physically hurts him to breathe. The third and last time, he says it softly, almost like a prayer.

He doesn’t tell her he loves her (dear gods, no, he’s not _that_ far gone yet), but at least he no longer looks at her as though even the act of her breathing is a crime. At least he no longer recoils every time he touches her. At least now they can finally stand to be in a room together without feeling the urge to kill one another.

It's a good start, she thinks.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> *covers head with a sack of cloth before hitting the Post button*


End file.
